


Through The Fractures

by dearxalchemist



Category: DC Extended Universe, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Post Mission, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 22:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17150252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: It’s the first kiss he’s allowed himself to miss and the guilt settles somewhere in his chest but he pushes it aside and takes a deep breath before reaching up and digging his thumb into her wound on her shoulder. The formidable woman above him cries out and jerks her shoulder away but he doesn’t let up on the pressure.  Lessons need to be learned.





	Through The Fractures

The mattress dips and he’s awake. Helena wonders if he was every really asleep to begin with, but she can’t seem to find a care at the moment. Her fingers are skimming over his ginger colored bed-head style, nails gently grazing the back of his neck. Helena draws him out of any bit of sleep he may have been experiencing, calling to him like a siren in the darkness of her bedroom. He always ends up in her bed. It’s softer than his own, smells like rich lavender and the shampoo she rinses through her hair on a daily basis. The exhaustion of his three-day conspiracy bender is temporarily shoved aside in favor of her warm body. 

“Babydoll,” She whispers out the name she has bestowed upon him. Even in the dark he knows the corner of her mouth is quirking up in that trademark smirk of hers. The one she uses on him when he’s missed her blatant flirting. Still, Vic doesn’t find her lips just yet. He moves a hand up, calloused fingers tracing the line of her jaw. Her skin is wet and when he draws his touch higher, her hair is soaked. Bits of rainwater finally drop from her onto him, onto the sheets where she’s crawling over him. Her cape hits the hardwood next to the bed with a heavy sopping noise. Boots clatter down next and even her socks are damp when she pulls the top sheet back from him. Vic finds himself squinting in the dark, waiting for his eyes to adjust quickly as he draws his hands down from her hair to the rip of her costume where he realizes the fabric is split somewhere it shouldn’t be. His thumb traces the rip down to a piece of skin where she jerks away from him with a sharp hiss. 

“Don’t!” Helena warns, there’s something feral that leaves her like a growl. Her hand collides with his chest and she shoves him down into the mattress. He wants to welcome the weight of her but now his thoughts are on her injury. She shifts against him, knees on either side of his stomach, leaning back into a spill of pale moonlight that cuts through her bedroom window. Helena’s costume is practically shredded. There are scrapes along her side and exposed belly where the blood has welled up and clotted despite the rainwater still clinging to her.

“You’re injured.” He says it like a fact and any chances of sleep are gone. 

Helena scoffs softly as she leans down against him, her lips are dangerously close to his own as she speaks, “You should see the other guys.” 

“I would rather see you,” Vic doesn’t give in to the space between them. He knows she’s trying to make him ignore the scratches, ignore the blood smeared into the white fabric of her uniform. Helena still stays in his orbit, her mouth just a breath away from his own. Her lips part and she lingers there just before she dips down. Vic turns his head and she leaves a smear of magenta on his jaw.

“Vic.” Helena mutters his name against his skin. Her anger is practically tangible, radiating off of her and he’s not sure if it’s the leftover adrenaline from the night or she’s genuinely mad he’s avoided her kiss. 

It’s the first kiss he’s allowed himself to miss and the guilt settles somewhere in his chest but he pushes it aside and takes a deep breath before reaching up and digging his thumb into her wound on her shoulder. The formidable woman above him cries out and jerks her shoulder away but he doesn’t let up on the pressure. He’s awake, sitting up with her and pushing harder into the wound to render her down. Helena is a force to be reckoned with but he takes her down, preying on her wounded and exhausted body. A hiss spills from her as she twists away and then falls half on her side, trying to escape before he finally lets up long enough to turn the silver lamp next to her bed on. The room is illuminated in a soft golden glow of an old lightbulb, but it doesn’t take away the harsh red of the blood on her shoulder. His hand is red where he has abused the wound and concern settles into his features as she reaches for her shoulder, covering it up. 

“Damn, that hurts.” Her whisper comes through clenched teeth and she squeezes her eyes shut tightly before finally turning her head up and over to look at him. He knows she’s angry with him, but refuses to apologize. Instead he slips out of her bed and into the attached bathroom where he starts the water. The old pipes in her building sing softly as the hot water finally kicks in and he moves back into the bedroom with the damp rag heading right for her. Helena doesn’t let go of her shoulder right away, watching him with a sharp gaze, blue eyes looking colder than the freezing depths of the oceans. He moves the rag down and she continues the stare, unmoving.

“Helena.” 

His voice is soft around the edges. She still doesn’t move. Still laying curled partially on her side with her hand folded over her wound, he exhales loudly through his nose before moving to pull at her hand. After a moment of tugging, she relents and settles for cursing when he pushes the damp cloth into her wound for cleaning. He swears he can hear a faint prayer on her lips as he dabs at her muscle, pulling the cloth away to reveal more torn uniform and skin. She was hit hard, but it looks more superficial than serious. No stitches, just a few bandages and salve would be all for tonight. 

“You’re not my caretaker.” She says coldly, turning her head up to meet his gaze, brows raising higher as he holds onto his silence.

“No,” He finally breaks, “I just care. Against better judgement.” 

The last words are a sting but Helena is first to look away, settling into the pressure he’s providing instead. Vic cleans until the red is nothing more than a smear of pink. Ordering her out of the uniform as he ventures back into her bathroom, not turning on the light this time. He knows his way around her apartment, knows which cabinet holds the old first aid kit and which one has fresh bandages. He also knows which towels to grab for, because if he uses her white ones she’ll likely put a bolt in his heart. By the time his hands are full and he comes back, she’s sitting on the edge of the bed with the ruined uniform dumped on the floor. Her hair is curling from the rain water, still dripping in spots and her arm is folded across her chest to hold onto her wound, naked except for the black strip of underwear stretched over her muscled hip. This time she doesn’t fight him when he pulls her hand away.

She doesn’t fight him when he wipes at the wound again, only turns her head away to grimace when he uses a cotton square to slather on anti-bacterial cream. The air between them grows silent and tense as he tapes over the first bandage, lifting her arm to look for anymore. There are bruises blooming along her skin, her knuckles are split and red but there are no broken bones, no other open wounds. 

“He got lucky,” Helena finally mutters when he gently gathers her wet hair and pushes it over one shoulder to take a look at her back. There is the shadow of a bruise but not much more, the rest of her is flawless like always shy of a view beauty marks. 

“You got lucky.” Vic states and she scoffs and then lets it bubble up into a ridiculous laugh at his words.

“No, _he_ got lucky. Lucky the GCPD showed up when they did or…” She trails off and waves a hand as he pulls away from her back but she wraps an arm around his waist, not letting him escape from her just yet. He makes no move to pull away, instead leaning into her. Slowly he folds, tip of his nose brushing the crown of her head. 

“Stop.” 

Helena stiffens under him and turns her head up, her nose just inches from his own now. Her makeup is smeared, lips half painted, but she still looks beautiful and he wonders if she knows just what she does to him when her eyes meet his, “What?”

“Stop going out alone, playing this down.” As he says _this_ his hand presses over her bandage shoulder hard enough to make her wince. Her wince turns into a scowl and she reaches up to hook her hand around the back of his neck. With a pull she closes the space between them. Her lips capture his in a searing kiss and he find himself giving in. Slowly she breaks the kiss, but doesn’t go far from her. She doesn’t let him go.

“You don’t tell me when to stop,” She reminds him but then something in her determined look softens as she draws her eyes away from his towards his mouth, her lips part again closer this time like she’s going to kiss him, “But I can try.” 

The last of her words break away and he finds himself folding into her a little more, thoughts running a million miles per hour, wondering what time she slipped out while he worked over files of a cold case long forgotten by Gotham’s finest. Her mouth finds the corner of his and rests. He wants to tell her the same, he can try to stop zoning out, stop escaping into his deepest thoughts when she needs him on the streets. Stop leaving her out when she wants to be included in the work he does. 

Helena sighs against him and he can’t help but enjoy the sound. Her lips find his and he kisses her back, smaller, gentler returns to her own, until he pulls away, “You’re injured.”

“And you’re the one stopping.” She counters him, lips trailing down the line of his jaw, kissing at the stubble there. Helena kisses lower, lips parting against his throat to suck at the soft skin there. 

“You shouldn’t strain.” He counters back to her, just for her answer him with a wicked grin slowly standing up, making him stand straighter. Without warning both of her arms are tangling around his neck and she braces her weight on his shoulders just before jumping. On instinct he catches her, arms under her muscled thighs and fingers digging into the soft flesh there as she lays her weight on him. A low grunt escapes him but he holds her firm, the bed pushing against the back of his legs..

“Then, don’t make me strain,” Helena’s tone is thick and sweet like honey against his mouth as she kisses him. Her fingers end up in his hair where she tugs on him for encouragement, a little too hard like always. Vic doesn’t complain though. He’s too busy being distracted by the feel of her in his arms, the weight of her laying on him bringing him into the waking world. His mouth moves over hers until she grows restless and draws her kisses lower. Slowly he moves until the bed is biting into the back of his knees and she’s pushing him down with impatient moves. Her legs tightened around his waist and he went down until she straddled him. Her mouth on his collarbone burning a trail lower. His throat constricted and he found himself struggling to catch his breath. 

Helena’s damp hair brushed over his stomach and he found his hands there, twisting it around his fingers and scratching gingerly along her scalp just as the tip of her tongue grazes the ridge of an old scar. He arches under her, strangled sound leaving him just before he bites back his groan. Her calloused fingers find the elastic of his sweatpants, worn and old. She makes a mental note to buy him new ones, to let these ones retire but not before she pulls them down. There is very little about Helena Bertinelli that is soft and gentle, but in moments like these she manages to kiss his scars like they are the stitches holding him together. She leaves behind a smear of lipstick when he pulls her up. His nose brushes hers and he feels the warm breath of her exhale falling on his bottom lip but he doesn’t kiss her just yet. 

Vic takes his time, thumb running the length of her jaw, eyes mapping out the curve of cheek down to lips on a mouth that is settled in impatience. There is nothing about her that can be called patient. He pulls her in slowly and kisses her. His hands end up on her cheeks.He kisses her until his lungs begin to ache along with her bones. Slowly Helena’s movements become slow and lazy. He’s coaxing her down from the adrenaline high with a steady flow of kisses and strokes of his fingers. 

“Babydoll,” She practically whines the nickname to him, her hips finding his own to grind down in impatience, which he answers with an arch of his hips only to settle her down with his hands moving from her face down the curve of her. Without warning he gripped a hold of her hips and rolled them both over, pressing her down into her expensive mattress. Helena flashed him a smirk but he kept her down, his fingers digging bruises into her hips, marking up tender skin with the intent to keep her down.

“Helena,” He whispered, gravel in his voice with a strangled breath as she wound her legs around his waist. The infamous conspiracy theorist it rendered speechless until she reaches to touch his bottom lip. Her thumb pulling gently at the lip, “You are injured.” 

“Not by much.” She tilts her head back against the pillow, snarling the curls together in knots. 

“Tomorrow,” He promises despite the fact he’s hard between her legs, with his sweatpants down his thighs and her costume gone, leaving her in the thin underwear stretched over her hips. Then as if she’s reading his mind she arches her own hips up against his with a grin twitching at her lips. Slowly she continues the torment, breaking down his well crafted restraint. Helena reduces him to impulse in a matter of moments.

“Tonight,” She coaxes softly. Her shoulder is still pinkish around the edges, but if it hurts she’s pretending otherwise. Without warning she’s arching her hips up again, pulling the edge of her underwear down her thighs. Vic finds himself helping her. He slowly rolls it down her strong legs, taking his time to lean in and press a kiss to the fleshy side of her calf before drawing his lips higher to her knee and once more at her thigh as he tosses the offending fabric to the ground. Helena has her fingers wrapped around his length as he kissed her other knee. A groan spilled from him as she tightened her fingers around him. The pad of her thumb brushing over the head of his cock, drawing him in closer. 

Vic leaned in, mouth planting a kiss against her stomach, watching the muscles jump in anticipation as he groaned, kissing higher, planting his lips against the underside of her left breast, taking his time to kiss between the valley of her breasts and nip at the skin there. His teeth pinching the skin just hard enough to make her gasp as she arched under him. His hips fit perfectly down against her own before he pulled her up and took his time. The head of his cock dragging across the apex of her thighs before he lined himself up. In one fluid motion he entered her. Helena’s gasp filled the room, swallowing his own. Stars burst behind his eyes as he squeezed them shut and rocked into her. Helena wrapped her legs around him and groaned. Her fingers moved to his thighs and she scratched gently against the skin there, urging him on. He answered her with a slow thrust, taking his time like he always did, listening to the noises she made to plot his next move like this was a chessboard and he was six moves ahead of her, waiting to take her down in a flurry of expensive sheets and moans. 

He doesn’t disappoint.   
His mouth finds her throat just as his thumb slips between her legs. Helena tilted her head back against the pillow, loud moan spilling from her lips as she rocked into him harder. Lips parted she panted against him, already rocking up to make him move faster, but in true form he won’t let her race to the finish line.

No, Vic takes his time with her. He slows his thrusts just to hear the frustrated growl. Smiles into her neck and then kisses just under her ear where he whispers to her, “Trust me.” 

“I do.” She answers and he raises a brow. Electricity races along her flesh and Helena finds her heart skipping beats, her thighs tightening around his waist as she rocks harder determined to keep the friction up. 

“No you don’t.” He says so matter-of-factly. His mouth pressing over his cheek to the corner of her mouth, “because you won’t rest.” 

“I’ll rest when you rest.” She’s sly with her words, kissing him hard. 

She steals his words away and he finds himself lost in her. He fans his fingers out along her waist and pulls her up against his thighs, rocking harder, feeling the pressure building between them. Helena moans into his mouth and matches his thrusts, pulls on his hair and bites at his bottom lip. She is all hard edges and sharp bites but when this is over, she’ll curl into him like a cat and give him a side of something softer. 

While she’s distracting him with a kiss, she pulls herself up with arms wound around his shoulders. Helena slides so easily into his lap. He holds her up with his hands sliding behind her, digging into the flesh of her ass. He pulls her in until there is no space between them. Sweat runs along his temple and down his back where her hands are clawing away along the curve of his spine. She grinds down onto him, keeping the friction between them until she begins losing her pace. 

Vic lets his mouth break away from hers and rests his head on her shoulder, buries his moans between them. She is vicious in bed, pulling at him and taking him to the edge, letting him fall only when she has. When he feels the first shakes of her orgasm his fingers tighten against her ass. His palms sliding under her thighs, pulling her into him. He thrusts harder until his muscles tense and just as she runs nails down his back he finds himself losing pace. His well polished facade of patience and care is broken. He is a broken stuttering mess against her. Pulling out at the last moment to finish against her thighs. Helena groans and pulls his head up, taking her time to kiss him once more. This time it’s soft and lazy, her tongue toying with his only to pull away, “Get a towel.” 

He rolls his eyes at her words, “Is there a please in there?” 

She kisses the crease between his brows, “Please.”

They are slow to untangle and a sticky mess. Vic’s muscles are shaking when he carries himself from the bed back to the bathroom where he wets another rag with the hot water from the sink. He cleans himself before moving back to the bed, listening to her tired snicker as he snatches her leg and pulls her to the edge of the mattress. He takes his time, wiping away the mess of their evening, tickling the arch of her foot before pulling away from her. Vic tosses the towel into the pile of laundry needing to be washed with a heavy sloshing noise before joining her in the bed. 

Helena accepts him with open arms. She tangles around him, rests her head on his shoulder and kisses the skin there. Sleep is heavy on her lids, he watches as she tries to fight it before he flicks the lamp off to cast them in darkness.

“I’ll try,” She whispers into the dark.

“That’s all I can ask for.”

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have no answers or like reasons for this. I just wanted to write these two being messy and in love. Find me on tumblr @carolferriis Merry Christmas!


End file.
